


Always Crashing in the Same Car

by MermaidSheenaz, superblackmarket



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe Zone, Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Performance Issues, Quite a lot of it, Rabbits, Rickyl, parenting, post-season 5 / 6.01 flashback era, teen shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:52:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6595528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidSheenaz/pseuds/MermaidSheenaz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/superblackmarket/pseuds/superblackmarket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He wondered if it was gone forever, the kind of love they had shared at the prison.</em>
</p><p>As Rick's sanity teeters, Daryl has to decide if what they have left is worth fighting for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Crashing in the Same Car

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Season 5, or during the flashbacks of 6.01.

_“Oh, I’m always crashing in the same car.” – David Bowie_

 

The spray of blood had been like a baptism. He remembered the ring of pale blanched faces. Two in particular, blue times two blinking in the dark. Round like dime pieces, narrow like fire. Lives makeshift and cobbled together. Going, gone.

If there was going to be any coming back from this, it would be to a new life. He had torn out a man’s throat with his teeth; he had come to rely on the unexpected. Death was more patient than life. Storm clouds, cities on fire, white dust and burning flesh. Death could afford to wait. He had to pick up the broken pieces and patch together the holes. Granted a second life, he would have to find more meaning than he could ever determine in his first.  
  
That meant Daryl. That meant Carl and Judith and being a family. No more pretense, no more bullshit. Pledging an apocalyptic sort of troth,  _all I have is yours, everything you are is mine, til death do us part._ Yours, mine, sort-of-forever.

But nothing ever went according to plan.

~

Seemed like the second Rick walked through those gates, he turned straight again. Not just straight like the extra bit of swagger when he walked up to Mrs. Anderson, but straight like  _my_ house,  _my_ kids, constable tie and nightstick. Straight meant arrogant, straight meant  _stupid_ , getting in fistfights and crashing through windows. Straight was Janus-faced, running the town like Patton and crying like a baby after sundown when the dreams came on too strong.

“Hands and knees,” Rick said after one of these episodes, still tear-streaked and sniffling. And Daryl said hell no, Rick could find someplace else to stick it. He stormed out, not caring who heard the door slam, and swung himself through the bathroom window onto the roof. Wasn’t til he was stretched out on the shingles, arms folded behind his head, that the anger seeped away. Left him brittle and sad.

Merle was laughing at him from hell.

Sprawled on the rooftop, he stared out over the sleeping town. Blinking innocently in the moonlight. Maybe it was something in the water, some kind of hoodoo-voodoo to make them forget. Because Rick was forgetting. Or else he never would have ordered him  _on his knees_.

He squinted at the label of the near-empty bottle. Dewar’s White, real top-shelf stuff he’d never touched before the turn, and it sure went down smooth. Lit a familiar fire in his belly. One that hadn’t burned since the night in the moonshine cabin with Beth.

A final swig and he sent the empty bottle soaring into the rose bushes below. A startled curse echoed from the porch; he shimmied precariously close to the ledge and peered over.

“Rick?”

“ _Daryl_?”

He made an ungainly attempt to lower himself; the rain gutter snapped under his weight as he dropped to the ground. “Shit.” He rooted around in the bushes until he came up with the empty bottle.

“Have you been drinking?”

That was a stupid question, so he didn’t respond. Instead he studied Rick through downcast lashes, looking for hostility, remorse or –

“That got a little out of hand,” Rick said.

He grunted.

“Wasn’t  _me_ ,” Rick added.

 _Course not_ he thought bitterly.

 _I’m sorry._ The words were there, in his creased brow and tired eyes. But not for the first time since they had arrived here, Daryl wished he would say them out loud.

“Can we… try again?” Rick was wearing sweatpants and an Emory University t-shirt. Easy on, easy off. “I still…”

“Been  _drinkin_ ,” he reminded Rick. “Aint so interested right now.”

“Bet I could get you interested again.”

Daryl grimaced; did this pass for  _flirting_ in a place like Alexandria? Him and Rick had never done much flirting – wasn’t in the vocabulary, made them look a pair of damn fools when they tried. It was on the tip of his tongue to say he’d kip on the porch tonight, but that was the alcohol and the loneliness talking. So he jerked his head at the door and followed Rick back inside.

Up the stairs, Rick’s hand resting at the small of his back, quietly down the hall past the kids’ room and into theirs. Rick’s, really; for all intents and purposes he slept on the couch, now that they were civilized again.

He leaned against the door while Rick shucked off his clothes. He wasn’t hard, not even close. Wasn’t unusual, he wanted it maybe one in the three times Rick did. Back at the prison, they’d made up their own rules, improvising, adapting to the whims of desire. Usually he hadn’t minded getting Rick off when there was nothing he wanted or needed in return. But this place, this shining city on a hill, had tarnished the animal simplicity of what they had. With Rick walking straight as Clint Eastwood out there, resentment simmered to a boil.  _Get your own damn self off and leave me out of it._

He forced down the rising tide of anger and scotch, his tolerance for both at a low ebb, and sat on the edge of the bed. Slowly unlacing his boots, pulling off one sock at a time. Sliding his pants over his hips and kicking them away. He glanced over his shoulder. Rick’s eyes were closed, he’d already gotten busy with his cock in his fist. So he stretched out beside him, leaving his shirt on for the time being. “Suck ya?” he offered, grudgingly.

“Was hoping you’d ride me,” Rick countered, face still screwed up in concentration. “But if you’re not in the mood –”

“’M not,” he snapped. His head was swimming and the room kept flickering out of focus; he didn’t think he could stomach the bouncing. He flopped gracelessly between Rick’s legs, knocking his hand out of the way and slurping down the dick already at half-mast from his ministrations. Rick’s hands landed in his hair as he worked. He looked up and saw Rick watching intently; he relaxed and took him deeper. The arguments, the eruptions – just smoke and mirrors. They could still come back to each other.

He anchored Rick’s hips to the mattress and tried to speed things along. But he knew Rick’s body, all its gullies and ravines and fault lines. So he pulled off and wiped the saliva running down his chin. “You aint even close.”

“I’m, I keep thinking I’m about to –” Rick slumped back against the pillow. “Then I can’t quite…”

“Jaw’s startin ta ache,” he said. “Use my hand if ya wanna keep goin.”

Rick’s fingers plucked at the fabric of his shirt. “You’re still dressed.”

“Not the bottom half a me.” He crawled up Rick’s body and rocked against him a little. “Whaddaya say we call it a night, Sheriff?” he suggested, looking down at him.

Rick’s face crumpled a little; he looked grey and defeated. “Maybe we should. Guess I’m just off tonight, I’m sorry.”

It was the first real apology Rick had offered him in weeks. Seemed a damn shame to waste it on something outside their control, when so much else clouded the air between them. Jessie and Pete Anderson. Officer Friendly and martial law. Deanna. Morgan. Aaron. Carl and Judith, their whole family. “You know me, plenty a times I could take it or leave it,” he said, rolling off Rick and getting to his feet.

“‘Plenty of times,’” Rick quoted back at him, nostrils flaring.

“ _Some_ times,” he amended, jerking his pants back up. He had stood too quickly and the liquor roared back to life in his veins, making him sway a little. He could taste the scotch at the back of his throat. “Tonight’s a ‘some times,’ man, so don’t sweat it.”

“You’ve been having a lot of those since we got here,” Rick observed quietly, pulling the sheet up around his midsection. “You haven’t initiated anything since the night you came back with Morgan.”

“That was less’n two weeks ago.” He folded his arms. “An’ you been actin like a bat outta hell, Rick, which don’t really make my motor run.” He could hear Merle in his head, urging him on, furnishing him with the sharpest jibes and the cruelest blows,  _the best defense is a good offense, baby bro._ But that was just the booze, he reminded himself, staring at a point over Rick’s head. Booze talked a big game, just like Merle used to do; matter-of-fact, booze talked a lot like Merle, period. “Man, I don’t care that your dick don’t work tonight,” he said, more levelly. “But don’t make this about me.”

“So that’s your diagnosis?” Rick snapped. “That my ‘dick don’t work?’”

“Dammit, Rick.” He only just kept his voice down, reminding himself that Carl and Asskicker slept on one side, Morgan on the other. “Aint a diagnosis, jus’ sayin yer tired tonight.” He shoved his feet into his boots and stuffed his socks in his pocket. “Best get some sleep.”

“Where’re you going?” Rick demanded, looking fired up and ready for a fight.

“Sleep on the couch,” he said tersely.

“Something the matter with my bed?”

The  _fuck you_ was almost out of his mouth before he swallowed it back down.  _Aint never known you to walk away from a fight_ Merle goaded him, cackling.  _You an even bigger pussy than I thought. Aintcha, Darlena?_

“No!” he growled, Merle’s laughter still ringing in his ears. Rick looked at him askance.

“Daryl—”

“Get some sleep,” he repeated dully, and left.

Downstairs, he flung himself onto the couch and began unrolling the blanket he used for such occasions; they arose often enough. Then he noticed a light was on in the kitchen. He got up and padded silently down the hall. Carl was rooting around in the freezer, already clutching a tub of ice cream.

“Wastin electricity,” he pointed out, making the kid jump. He emerged with a second tub and closed the door quickly.

“I knew there was another flavor in there somewhere,” Carl said. Then he looked at Daryl, blue eyes, so like his dad’s, shrewd and assessing. “You want chocolate or strawberry?”

“Neither. Chocolate.”

Carl sat at the table and he perched on the counter, dragging his spoon through the chocolate and marveling at the speed with which Carl put away the strawberry.

“ _Brainfreeze_.” Carl winced elaborately, then dug back in. “You and my dad must be fighting again if you’re down here.”

“Aint nuthin,” he said warily. Carl’s interest in Enid, and his subsequent badgering about  _bases_ and  _touching_ and  _what makes it French?_ seemed to have renewed his curiosity in his father and Daryl. And Daryl, the primary object of these interrogations, had to think of urgent reasons to be elsewhere when Carl got that gleam in his eye and started asking questions that began with  _So how do you…_ But there was something about the way Carl said  _fighting again_ that penetrated his soggy brain and made him sit up straighter. “You hear sumthin?”

Carl shook his head. “But you’re down here with your scary face on and my dad’s the only one who can piss you off like that.”

“Huh.” He scrubbed his fists into his eyesockets and tried to erase whatever his  _scary face_ was.

“What did he do this time?” Carl said.

“What’d  _he_ do?”

“Well, it’s always him, isn’t it?” said Carl. “He’s been kind of a jerk lately.”

“Aint just him,” Daryl said fairly, remembering their first days in Alexandria when he had bitched and sulked like a flea-bit alley cat, turning his back when Rick needed him. “’S me, too.”

“Are you going to leave?” Carl looked at him at him with resignation in his eyes. Like he was already steeling himself for the worst.

“Course I aint leavin.” He jammed his spoon into the ice cream and set it aside. “Where’d ya get a stupid idea like that?”

“He pushes people away,” Carl said. “Treats them like shit.”

“You mean yer ma.” Guilt crystallized like ice in his chest.

Carl shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Here’s the thing, brat.” He rubbed his chin. “We argue cos we expect a lot from each other, ya know? One of us is pullin bullshit, the other, he aint gonna take it. An’ there’s been a lotta bullshit since we got here,” he added, truthfully.

“Yeah,” Carl said. Then he held out the tub of strawberry. “Wanna switch?”

After Carl had gone to bed he returned the ice cream to the freezer and switched off the light. He wandered out to the porch with his crossbow and set to cleaning even though it was still glossy from the last rub-down. Maintenance had been a luxury on the road; here it had become a kind of idleness. His gear had never been in better shape: oiled, buffed and sharpened within an inch of mint, just enough nicks to document the action it had seen outside. But Rick kept him tethered up these days, like a dog on a very short lead. No scouting, no reconnaissance, no recruiting. Wasn’t his style, waiting for the hammer to fall. And Rick should’ve known better. You spend long enough waiting for the real enemy to come to you, you end up creating a few fake ones at home just to keep yourself busy.

~

Daryl had been a double-take. First impressions were nearly lethal, for the both of them. Daryl’s rattlesnake quickness made his nerves sing.  _What if_ hovering under every exchange. But still. Neither pulled the trigger.

 _Fight or flight_ he saw the impulses warring behind Daryl’s eyes. Less and less as the months went on. And then only when they were in bed together. The only place where Daryl wasn’t perfectly steady for him. Because he didn’t ask him to be. In bed he tangled with a palimpsest of Daryls, rapt, aggressive, bashful, affectionate, coy, uninhibited.

But everywhere else. Daryl held fast for him. He could be raving like Kurtz  _you have no right to call me a murderer you have a right to kill me but you have no right to judge me_ and Daryl would say  _Rick, Rick_ and call him back because Daryl knew what horror meant and didn’t need words to describe it.

He probably wouldn’t have made the aisles of Father Gabriel’s church run red with blood if Daryl had been beside him.

~

Rick was distant when he came down for breakfast. Unshaved and puffy-eyed, he appeared to have slept as little as Daryl and didn’t stick around before heading off on his constable beat.

Which Daryl took as leave to slip through the gate with his crossbow and game bag.  _We have food_ the others always told him, but that was food from a can, not proper protein for Asskicker now she was growing so big.

No large game, but the cottontails were out in force. Lord knew where they’d been when the group was starving and he’da cut off his right hand to keep Asskicker fed. He quit when his bag was full, even though there were still plenty of the damn things hopping around. Before he lit his cigarette he shook a little tobacco over the ground where he’d shot his last rabbit. Stupid thing to do, he’d probably picked it up from a rerun of  _Dances with Wolves_ or  _The Lone Ranger_ , but he figured they needed all the good juju the earth had to offer, so.

He didn’t meet any herds, just five or six isolated walkers easily dispatched with his knife. Back by mid-afternoon. No one seemed to have clocked his absence. The first week or so everyone had stared at him like he was a freak-show exhibit; now Rick was the only one they had eyes for. Awe and fear. He couldn’t blame them.

Making his rounds, he left a couple bunnies with Eric and one with Olivia, though fuck-all she’d know what to do with it. He’d started back towards his own house when he saw Jessie Anderson and her younger son standing on the corner. Both pale with raccoon rings round their eyes. Was the boy that made him turn back, though – kid was soft and pasty from too much time spent indoors.

“Here.” He shoved two rabbits into her startled hands. “Cos you got kids.”

“Oh!” She looked down at the fresh blood beginning to stain her shirt. “Oh…”

“Daryl, what’s going on?”

Officer Friendly was marching over to investigate, all swagger and bustle. Seemed inappropriate, given the circumstances, and Jessie’s kid darted behind her. Jessie herself looked away, apparently reluctant to make eye contact.

“Jessie doesn’t want those,” Rick said pompously, confiscating the rabbits. “We’re not cooking over campfires anymore. Give them to Carol, she’ll know what to do with –”

“Actually,” Jessie interrupted faintly, still staring at the ground, “I’d like them. Thank you, Daryl.” Gingerly she reclaimed the rabbits, gave him a tense smile, and steered her son back towards their house.

He couldn’t help it, he smirked at Rick.  _Who’s straight now, Eastwood?_

Rick scowled.

“You told em they gotta change,” he pointed out.

“You can’t just –” Rick put his hands on his hips, looking a bit like Judith in a sulk. “She’s not like that, she doesn’t know the first thing about –”

“Lori learned,” he said brutally. And Rick flinched, just as he’d intended. They stared at each other a moment, Rick steaming with indignation. Then he changed the subject. “Don’t worry, still kept most of em fer our folks.”

“You went outside without telling me.”

“Yep.”  _And you can’t stop me_ he added silently. He set off towards the house, and Rick followed closely, still yapping about rules and accountability. So full of hot air he’d forgot how the two of them  _worked_. Brief and direct, without subtext.  _Tell me so I don’t worry. Ask permission because I love you._

Cos that’s all it would have taken, to bring him to heel.

Rick trailed him to the upstairs bathroom, where he started washing up. Scrubbing dirt and blood from his forearms until the sink was streaked with filth. Behind him, Rick started up the shower, and he concentrated on scraping the blood from beneath his nails as he heard Rick’s heavy belt hit the floor, closely followed by the softer thumps of his shirt and pants. He scrubbed harder, splashing water everywhere as steam filled the air.

“You’re making a hell of a mess.” Rick raised his voice over the water. “Just come over here, will you?”

He squinted at Rick’s blurry form through the frosted glass. The shower door creaked open invitingly. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and a bit down; suddenly the buttons on his shirt seemed impossibly small and fiddly as he worked them open. When he’d got his clothes off he hesitated a moment longer before stepping into the shower and banging the door shut behind him.

First he elbowed Rick away from the spray and took up his position under the showerhead. Hot water was a luxury he could live without, but every so often… Or maybe he was just getting soft. After his hair was thoroughly wet he stepped aside to let Rick back under. Rick brushed against him, elbow and thigh, as they traded places. His stomach tightened at the contact, which was funny cos few domestic rituals pissed him off more than this one, shivering against the cold tiles while he waited his turn. Grown men just didn’t shower well together, and most times he was hard-pressed to find anything sexy about it. But watching Rick standing there with his head thrown back to rinse out the shampoo, water and soap running down his chest, he found himself reaching out and taking over. Massaging Rick’s scalp with his fingers, making sure he got all the shampoo out. Rick sighed gratefully, closing his eyes and leaning into him.

He soaped himself, automatically tensing when Rick tried to do his back and promptly cursing himself at the hurt look in Rick’s eyes.  _Thought we were past this_ Rick’s face said, and he shrugged a little.  _We are. I’m not._ Rick steered him back under the spray and washed his hair for him. It was nice, real gentle-like. He could feel the contentment rumbling deep in his chest.

When they got out he made Rick stick his head out the door and double-check the house was quiet before they hustled back to Rick’s room in their towels.

“Daryl…”

He turned back from locking the door. Rick was looking at him, head tilted, eyes bright.

“Yeah,” he heard himself saying as he walked over, backing Rick against the bed. “Yeah, alright.”

They tumbled into the sheets, discarding their towels in the process, and Rick’s legs parted easily for him to settle between. He braced himself up on his forearms, staring into Rick’s wide blue eyes. Letting the undertow whisk him far, far way. One thought surfacing: he wanted to kiss Rick. It seemed almost novel again, after how stiff and strange they’d grown around each other in Alexandria. So he did, pressing his lips firmly against Rick’s, feeling them curve into a smile. Took all his willpower not to smile back. Instead he licked his way into Rick’s mouth, teasing the other man’s tongue into action til the kiss stopped being sweet and turned rough and devouring instead.

He broke for air. “Whatcha want, Rick?”

“Want…” Rick’s chest heaved and he eased up a little to let him breathe.

“Yeah?”

“Well, you’re already on top,” Rick mumbled, his scrubbed-clean skin flushing pink all over. “D’you wanna…”

“I got ya, Rick.” He rummaged in the bedside table for the small bottle he’d lifted from Aaron and Eric’s medicine cabinet, too mortified to ask for what probably would have been given freely.

“It’s just…”

He paused, about to pop the cap. “Yeah?”

“Well…”

“Spit it out, man.” Rick’s erection was digging into his hip, making him feel dizzy.

“It’s just, it’s so much  _work_.” Rick half-smiled, half-grimaced. “You know? All the getting ready. The whole…  _process_ … of it. Sometimes I wish we could just…  _go_.”

“Well…” He set the bottle aside, rocking his pelvis into Rick’s and eliciting another startled groan. “There’s always…” He shifted until their cocks were aligned and thrust down. “ _This_ …”

“Jesus,” Rick gasped, bucking upwards. There was a spark of mischief in his eye. “Like teenagers.”

“Best not ta dwell on it,” Daryl advised, guiding Rick’s legs farther apart for better access. Then he kissed him hard enough to bruise, not even wincing when their teeth clacked together, and Rick seized fistfuls of his ass to encourage him. They settled into a rhythm of sorts, him grinding down and Rick pushing up, and it wasn’t quite fucking but it was still pretty damn good. Oddly lighthearted, too; the humor wasn’t lost on him as they writhed and rutted and chafed each other into oblivion. He might actually  _come_  from this – the heat was coiling in his belly and Rick’s movements were growing wilder. He shook his hair out of his eyes and yanked one of Rick’s legs up over his shoulder, grabbing both their cocks in his fist –

“Hey, dad?” There was a knock on the door and they both froze.

“Carl?” Rick’s voice was a strangled croak.

“Are you okay? You sound funny.” Carl didn’t wait for a response. “Dad, Judith just threw up  _everywhere_.”

“Why you tellin us?” Daryl snapped, even as Rick swatted his shoulder and made frantic shushing motions. “Clean it up yer damn self.”

“Daryl?” Carl sounded surprised. “I didn’t realize you were…”

He waited hopefully for the sound of Carl’s retreating footsteps, but there was only a brief silence. “ _Dad_ ,” the kid insisted, cos apparently a couple weeks was all it took to forget where they’d been and start moaning over a bit of baby puke. His balls were aching, already drawn tight against his body. But if Asskicker was sick, and Carl wasn’t gonna look after her proper…

“Fuckssake, brat,” he growled, levering himself off Rick and reaching for his clothes.

~

The whole world was burning and all he wanted was to burrow underground and feel Daryl’s scruff dragging across his skin.

Other times Daryl was too much wild, too much wilderness.  _I can’t contain you anymore._ He was afraid to fuck Daryl (let Daryl fuck him) because Daryl was an elemental force and it made him angry. He had his uniform and his white picket fence but he didn’t stand a chance against mountains and rivers and rain –

He had forgotten how dangerous Daryl was. It struck him anew, now that they were civilized again. Daryl drifted in and out of the shadows like smoke. He could kill them all in their sleep if he wanted –

But Daryl wasn’t the one killing people  _he_ was the one killing people and Daryl’s face was expressionless when they stared at each other over Pete Anderson’s body.

~

They went to bed quietly. A rare thing for them these days, just traipsing up the stairs, getting under the covers, switching off the light. He let Rick pull him close but then Rick’s hand drifted south and he sighed.  _Think maybe we oughta give it a rest._

_What if something’s wrong with me._

_Aint nuthin wrong with you._ He moved Rick’s hand back up to his stomach. “Jus’ gotta lot on yer mind.”

“You said my dick didn’t work,” Rick accused, jabbing a finger into his ribs for emphasis. “That’s what you said last night.”

“Yeah, said it wasn’t workin  _last night._ ” He rolled his eyes in the dark. “Seemed fine this afternoon.”

“We got interrupted,” Rick said. “No way of knowing if…”

“You even horny?” He intercepted Rick’s hand as it inched back down and laced their fingers together firmly. He was hard, he’d been itchy all evening. Didn’t want Rick to know about it, though. The man had been testy and out-of-sorts at dinner, moving in a fog of exhaustion. Last thing he needed was another frantic romp in the sheets to prove he still had some bang left in him.  _Aint nuthin you gotta prove_ he reminded him.  _Just you and me, remember?_

Rick pulled away. “You don’t have to coddle me, Daryl.”

That stuck in his craw. “Never coddled  _nobody_ ,” he snapped.  _Aint nobody ever coddled me._ His throat felt tight.  _Get a fucking grip, Dixon._ He was sick to death of these arguments, it was like crashing the same car over and over—

“Where are you going?” Rick demanded, sitting up and turning on the light.

“ _Can’t_ ,” he muttered. “Jus’ can’t…” There was another bottle stashed somewhere, bourbon maybe, and the rooftop would be quiet and peaceful. He wouldn’t drink too much, not so much as last night anyway, just enough to dissolve the lump in his throat. Maybe Merle would pay him a visit, he could feel his brother flickering at the edges of his consciousness, waiting to take over. “ _Fuck_.”

He bit down on his knuckle,  _hard_ , trying to dam the wave of misery threatening to bust out of him.  _Go_ he told himself, but his body wasn’t responding. Limbs turned to lead. He flinched when Rick’s hand landed on his shoulder. Suddenly desperate for a fight. Knock out a few of Rick’s teeth, let Rick knock out a few of his. Black eyes and bloody noses, the kind of hurt he could deal with.

“I’ve been having these dreams,” Rick said, and Daryl sneered at the fucking  _understatement_ of it, if Rick could call thrashing and sobbing  _dreaming_ –

“Nightmares,” Rick amended. “I’ve been having these  _nightmares._ There’s ones where I’ve turned, and I’m eating people, our people. Sooner or later I get to Carl or Judy, and that’s when I wake up. Other times we’re back on the road, and those men – this time I just watch, watch them kill you, watch them do unspeakable things to Michonne and Carl, and it’s like I’m frozen, I don’t do anything. And then the one in charge, he points his gun at me, and thank god he  _finally_ pulls the trigger because I don’t know if I –” His voice shook. “And that’s not even the worst of it.” His grip tightened painfully on Daryl’s shoulder. “Sometimes I have to  _choose._ It plays out a thousand different ways, but I always have to choose, in the end. You or the kids. I see you go down, and I could’ve stopped it. Taken your place. Died for you. But I  _don’t_ , because I’ve only got one death, and the kids –… And then I wake up, and you’re there, and I can’t even fucking  _look_ at you…”

He turned around to face him. Rick had tears streaming down his cheeks. Guilt and grief warring across his face. Daryl reached out and dragged his thumb through the tear tracks. “Rick, hey,” he said, gently. “Don’t want you ta die for me. Aint the way it’s sposed ta go. You die for me, when we got the kids waitin at home –? Hafta kill ya ’gain myself, fer bein a damn fool.”

That earned him a watery chuckle.

“Never went inta this expectin you ta sacrifice yerself when the moment comes,” he continued. “Was always gonna be me. For you an’ them. In the end. An’ that’s how I want it, ya hear? Made up my mind a long time ago.”

“It’s not  _fair_ ,” Rick said quietly. “Not fair to you, dying for someone who won’t do the same for you. That’s why I’ve been –”

“Actin like a prize idiot?” Daryl suggested. “Pissin me off all the time, so’s I’d quit ya ’fore ya had ta choose?”

“Would’ve made things simpler.” Rick looked down. “For me, anyway.”

“Y’always was a selfish bastard,” he said, without malice. “’S yer problem, Rick, yer always tryna make like you know better, but deep down, yer jus’ as selfish as the rest of us.”

“Except you’re  _not_ ,” Rick said. “You’d die for me, you’d die for the kids–”

“Never had nobody ta die for, ’fore I landed with you lot,” he interrupted. “Never thought I’d have a baby, neither. Kids. You gave me that. Figure I done pretty good fer myself.” He brought his thumb to his mouth and tasted the salty wetness. Rick still looked crumpled, so he crawled closer and used his tongue to lick the tears from his face. That made Rick laugh, properly this time.

Then they were kissing. There was something warm flickering back to life in his chest and he realized it was love. His fingers found their way into Rick’s hair and Rick was cradling his face like it was something precious and they hadn’t kissed like that in a long long time. “Okay,” he said, when they broke for air. He  _wanted_ Rick, even that sweet shallow kiss had him tingling, but he knew better. They were both too raw and peeled back tonight, too soft and new in their skin. “We’re gonna sleep now, you’n me,” he decided. “We aint slept proper in days.”

“Trying to save face for me, Dixon?” Rick asked suspiciously.

“’S me I’m worried bout,” he said. “Might fall asleep, right’n the middle a the show.”

Rick grumbled good-naturedly, but Daryl could feel the weariness pouring off him and knew he was relieved. So they turned out the light. He was Big Spoon tonight, and it wasn’t long til Lil Spoon was breathing deep and easy. So he let himself drift off, too.

The nightmares, when they came, hit harder than usual. He woke gasping for air, Rick’s hands around his throat. It was a good job he’d learnt some control over his reflexes, or he might have broken Rick’s nose. Even so, it was a struggle to pry him loose. Rick’s eyes were wide and unseeing and he thrashed like a fish out of water. At last Daryl got him on his stomach, pinned his arms down, and put a knee between his shoulders to hold him steady.  _C’mon back to me, Rick. Nice and easy._ The moment of waking was violent and tearful as always. Fists and accusations, but he waited it out. Impervious.  _’S just me. Yer okay. Kids’re okay. ’S just me._ He knew the horror plenty well.

Rick didn’t ask for sex when he came back to himself, didn’t ask for anything. Just whispered  _motherfucker_ and then even more quietly  _sorry. ’S okay_ Daryl told him, and held him til he was snoring again.

They were careful around each other in the morning. Polite. Rick didn’t say anything when he shot an owl through the window and sat down to pluck it at the kitchen table. He ate with his knife and fork and wiped his mouth on a napkin. Before they went their separate ways for the day, Rick kissed him goodbye, almost shyly.

He kept his act together, ambling down the street and nodding stiffly at a couple of folks, til he made it to Aaron’s garage. Then his rubbery legs give way, and he sank to the floor amidst all the car batteries and spark plugs and broken valves he’d been tinkering with. His breath came raggedly and he dropped his head between his knees.  _Christ._ Rick had said the three words again last night,  _I_ and  _love_ and  _you_ , which had been missing between them for a while. He hadn’t said the words back but he could feel them clawing at his throat. Couldn’t give everything away, though, not at once.

 _I’ve only got one death_ Rick had said. He never realized the man was so tore up about it – not having enough deaths to go around. Daryl had never questioned that he would use his own death for Rick and the kids. More life was the best he could offer them, and the knowledge steadied him. All  _his_  nightmares came from the past: Merle, his da, his burnt-to-nothing ma, Beth. The future didn’t trouble him so much.

He lit a cigarette and settled down with his batteries. He wanted to get a few more cars running, just in case they had to make a run for it someday. Forgot to break for lunch, cos his stomach wasn’t used to that yet, and worked through the afternoon. Aaron invited him inside for a cold beer. But he could feel something tugging at him. Not danger, but a prickling unease nonetheless. So he went home, passing Michonne on the street with a distracted wave.

“What’s going on?” she called after him. “Something wrong?”

“Nah,” he called back.

“I saw Rick go in about ten minutes ago,” she said, “if that’s why you’re in a rush.”

He flipped her the bird. Not really pissed, though. Him and Michonne had spent enough time together, tracking the Governor, that she got to tease him. A bit.

He marched into the house and, sure enough, he was greeted by raised voices and Judith’s ear-shattering howls.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite!” Carl was hollering. “ _Don’t get attached_ – ! You’ve been sniffing around Ron’s mom since the day we got here –”

“Carl.” Rick’s voice, tense and dangerous.

“Quit trying to replace Mom!” Carl bellowed. “We don’t  _want_ another fucking mom, we have Daryl, and you’re screwing everything up!”

“Aw, shit,” he said, making for the stairs and taking them two at a time.

“You didn’t kill Ron’s dad cos he was an asshole, you did it cos you wanted his mom for yourself!” Carl accused. “Just like you killed Shane! Remember  _him_?”

“ _Damn_ it, Carl, you were a kid, you don’t know the first thing about –”

He reached Carl’s room in time to see Rick slam his fist down on the dresser so forcefully that the little music box toppled over and smashed against the floor. Holding herself up against the bed, Judith screamed even louder.

“You asshole,” Carl said, suddenly quiet. “Daryl fixed that for Maggie.”

He stalked through the doorway and they both spun to look at him, so alike in their flushed cheeks and clenched jaws. He ignored them, going straight to Asskicker and sweeping her up. “Shh,” he said, patting her back and using his shirt to clean the snot from her face. “You sure know how ta use yer diaphragm, don’t ya, sweetheart?” Judith hiccupped and grabbed a fistful of his hair. “Yeah, alright, go on then,” he said, and she gave it a firm tug.

He didn’t spare a glance for Rick and Carl til she was breathing easy, her face tucked against his shoulder. Then he narrowed his eyes at the pair of them.

Nobody said jack-shit.

He left, taking Asskicker to the room he shared with Rick. Laid her out on the bed and combed the sweaty hair off her face. Lord, she could scream like a little banshee. Ready enough to sleep now, though; she blinked up at him with heavy eyelids, clutched a couple of his fingers, and went out like a light.

Rick closed the door and hovered there, uncertainly.

“Well?” Daryl said at last, keeping his voice low and even.

“Came home and found Carl upstairs with Enid.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow.

“You knew?” Rick demanded. His eyes flashed but he kept his voice quiet. “Of course you knew.”

Daryl shrugged.

“They weren’t – not  _that._ Just… necking.”

 _Necking?_ Daryl snorted under his breath. “Didn’t knock, did ya?”

“I didn’t hear anything, I was gonna check if he was asleep or something…” Rick trailed off. “She ran off. The girl. Enid. And Carl…”

“What, Sheriff? You warn him not ta get attached?”

Rick grimaced.

“You tell him it was our own people first, all the rest’s expendable?” Daryl prodded, some of the old anger flaring up. “That it aint worth it, him gettin close ta that girl, cos she aint one of us an’ we’d leave her behind?”

“Something like that,” Rick admitted, hooking his thumbs in his belt. “I don’t – I’m not sure exactly – something came over me. I saw the two of them, and… Hell, I don’t know. All the movie bullshit. How much he’d grown, how oblivious I was.”

“So ya lost control,” he said, smoothing a hand down Judith’s back.

“This sounds so fucking stupid – a part of me was jealous. I know they’re just kids,” Rick added quickly, “and there’s no reason it  _should_  be complicated for them. But still. They make it look so easy. Normal. And we’re – not. My brain’s always spinning like a, like a hamster on a wheel, til I don’t know how to touch you anymore, and half the time I can’t even get my stupid dick up anyway.”

 _Normal_ stung a bit, but he let it slide. “Shane, too,” he mused, changing the subject. “Didn’t realize he was still yer Achilles, after all this time.”

“When it comes to Carl, always.” Rick sighed heavily. “He may never forgive me for him. And he thought the stuff with Jessie – that it was like that.”

“Uh huh,” he said, choosing not to reveal how much he’d overheard.

“Carl really loves you, you know.” Rick’s voice cracked. “Said he and Judy don’t need another mom, because they have you.” He moved to sit beside him on the bed, but Daryl put up a hand.

“Better talk ta him first, doncha think?”

“Me?” Rick hesitated, rubbing a hand over his stubbled chin. He looked wary. “I think he’d rather talk to you.”

“’S between you’n him,” he said gruffly. “Aint got no beef here.”

“But –”

“Ya lost it, Rick,” he said. “Was a real fucked up thing ta say. Leavin a girl ta die? That aint us, man.”

“I know. I screwed up. I lost my temper.” Rick ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Still, I don’t want them up in his room together, when nobody’s home. That’s reasonable. No matter what world we live in.”

“So tell him. Course he’ll find his way round, one way or another. ’S what kids do,” he added philosophically, stretching out next to Judith.

“I have to make rules,” Rick pointed out. “Even if he’s gonna break them. Don’t get me wrong, I know he will. But… I gotta try. So it goes, right?

“Yeah,” said Daryl dryly. “Poo-tee-weet.”

~

 _We’re too old_ he thought every time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror – salt-and-pepper stubble, a flash of silver at the temples – and didn’t recognize the haggard stranger staring back at him

 _We’re not old at all_ he thought when every muscle of Daryl’s powerful body flexed and coiled in the ecstatic couplings that made him think he’d been waiting all his life for this, this,  _this_

 _Just too old_ he thought once they’d settled into their new home, because there was something to be said for keeping house with a pretty wife and going to church on Sundays and not causing a stir

 _We’re not old at all_ he thought when he thought about Daryl dying for him, because they weren’t old, not old at all, and they never  _would_ grow old, not the two of them, not together.

~

He took supper alone on the porch, trying to get the music box working again, but the whole mechanism was busted. He set the pieces aside and stretched.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, padding into Carl’s bedroom. “No go.”

“It’s cool. Thanks for trying.” Carl was leaning over Judith’s crib, watching her sleep.

“You good?” he asked.

“…Yeah,” Carl said, after a moment.

“Yer dad, he didn’t mean what he said.”

“That’s what  _he_ said,” Carl told him mulishly.

“Jus’ a bit of a shock fer him, I reckon. You all grown up an’ shit.”

“Daryl?”

“Yeah, what?”

“If something happens… you won’t let him leave anyone behind, will you?”

“Nobody’s gettin left anywhere,” he swore, hoping fate wouldn’t make a liar of him.  

Rick hadn’t come upstairs yet, so he sprawled facedown in the middle of the bed. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender. He rolled his shoulders, groaning as his joints popped and cracked. There was a different kind of ache in his chest, a heaviness. He wondered if it was gone forever, the kind of love they had shared at the prison. How easy it had been, how natural. And fierce, too, when the mood took them.  _Yer mine_ he’d told the other man, days before the prison fell, biting his shoulder hard enough to bruise.  _Mine, ya hear?_

Those marks had long since faded. He hadn’t had the opportunity to replace them, not when Rick was alternately barking out commands or trembling like an aspen leaf. And him feeling so dull and dead inside. One thing to fuck hard and dirty in an empty cellblock, to wrestle their feelings out under the trees. But putting Rick’s head right, trying to rekindle the fragile thing flickering between them… it was a damn sight harder with a whole town watching.

 _You felt it_ he reminded himself  _last night, you felt it. Aint gone, you just gotta keep it burning._ Yeah, it was different, having to tell their bodies what to do. They were less spontaneous now. They masqueraded as other people in public. What they did, they did behind locked doors and drawn curtains. Rick wasn’t ashamed of him, he knew it was more complicated than that. Hell,  _he_ was the private one in this relationship; it must’ve been some kind of pigheaded contrariness that made him want  _more_.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but a few bitter tears leaked out anyway. Least nobody was there to see. It felt like a kind of mourning, letting go of what they had been. What they could have been, maybe. He inhaled a shuddery breath and wiped his nose. They were something a little different now, but they still  _were_ , and that was the important thing.

Time passed, and then a warm weight settled on top of him. He blinked sleepily at the intrusion but let his body relax, accepting Rick’s proximity. He was starting to drift off again when a sharp nip to the earlobe jolted him awake.

“The  _fuck_?” he snarled, shoving blindly behind him and bringing up his arms to protect his head.

Rick pressed an apologetic kiss to the side of his neck. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“Well,  _try_ ,” he grunted, burying his face in the sheets again. He could feel Rick’s heart thumping steadily against his back, and his own heart accelerated to keep pace with it. Rick’s teeth scored lightly over his bicep, latching on to the ragged hem of his shirt and tugging it away from his shoulder. His hips shifted against the mattress;  _don’t_ he told himself sternly. Too easy to think sex solved everything. But pinned beneath Rick, his body was getting other ideas. “Knock it off,” he said aloud, not sure who or what he was addressing, but arching against Rick anyway. Wrongness losing out to  _rightness,_ Rick’s face nuzzling into his neck.

And then Rick shifted and Daryl felt him there, hard against his ass.  _Lookit that, all by yerself, too._ Rick snorted, adjusting himself, and this time it was deliberate, a determined press forward. Daryl held perfectly still, and Rick thrust against him again, muffling a curse in his shoulder. Breath hot on his skin.

Suddenly the weight was gone. He kept his face buried in the mattress, listening to Rick divest himself of his clothes. The bed dipped when Rick returned, kneeling astride him, and warm, steady hands settled over his hipbones.  _Can I_? The silent question was like a spring breeze tickling his ear. He raised his hips. Rick reached beneath him to unfasten his belt and eased his pants down his legs.  _Okay_ he thought  _okay._ He hesitated a moment longer when Rick’s hands, less certain this time, curled around the hem of his shirt. They’d lost some ground here: the history carved onto his back was starker and uglier in a proper house, in a proper bed, in between proper sheets. But he could feel a spot of dampness gathering beneath him, Christ, he was already leaking. Sheets not so proper after all. He nodded slightly.  _Go on._

When his threadbare shirt had been tugged over his head and disentangled from his hair, Rick was there, lining up their bodies and covering every inch of him. Cock nudging against his ass. His breathing grew shallow but he didn’t move. He wasn’t gonna tip this one way or another.

And so he let Rick explore. His shoulders were peppered with soft kisses, the back of his neck nipped and rubbed raw with stubble. Strong fingers dug into his biceps, smoothed down his obliques. They crept under his ribcage to find his nipples and he growled a warning, but Rick only stroked over them, fingertips skating over the rungs of his ribs. The fine hair covering Rick’s chest tickled his mangled back, hypersensitive even under so many layers of scar tissue. He knotted his fists in the sheets as Rick kissed up his spine, vertebra by vertebra, pelvis pushing against his more insistently.

“Okay to open you up?”

He started at the timber of Rick’s voice, cracked and hesitant. Hesitating a little himself. Wondering if their relationship, in all its intense fragility, would survive another bust-up. You could only crash the same car so many times.

Still, he grunted affirmatively and spread his legs wider. Glad his face was still buried in the mattress, where Rick couldn’t see his uncertainty. He listened closely as Rick fumbled around in the bedside table and popped open the bottle of lube. Even forewarned, the first press of Rick’s finger made him flinch and grit his teeth.

_God you’re tight._

_Well, ’s been a while, aint it?_ He inhaled deeply; on the exhale he let his body relax, muscle by muscle. Pliant now, he lifted his hips and Rick’s finger slipped in the rest of the way.

“Oh.” Rick sounded almost surprised. He curled his finger and pressed down,  _hard._ Daryl shuddered as something light and ticklish rushed through his veins. “Keep goin,” he said. “Gimme another.” Rick’s fingers pumped in and out of him with a wet, suction-y drag that made him stifle a snort in the crook of his elbow.

 _What’s so funny?_ Rick demanded.

 _Sounds like you’re plunging a toilet, Sheriff_ he said crudely, pushing back on three fingers now. A drop of sweat ran down his temple.  _Think we’re good to go._

Rick fumbled a little, getting inside of him. The angle was wrong and his cock skidded out, making them both wince. He heard a grunt of frustration behind him, and then Rick repositioned himself and slid in. No ceremony, no build, suddenly just  _there_ , joining them together like they’d never been apart. He sighed in relief. Rick groaned, a hoarse, drawn-out exclamation muffled against his shoulder. For several long moments they didn’t move. Rick clung to him, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Then he had to move, his aching cock was trapped painfully between his body and the mattress, and that little adjustment seemed to reawaken Rick to the possibilities of movement. The first few thrusts were shallow and tentative, but Rick was already trembling, like they’d been going at it for hours.

 _Easy_ he told him, levering his weight onto his forearms so he could rock up and take him deeper.  _Easy there…_ He changed the angle and grunted in satisfaction when Rick’s cock hit the right spot inside him. Rick moaned plaintively in response and picked up the pace, his whole body starting to shake. Distracted kisses were lavished across his shoulders, his neck, the back of his head. He was acutely aware of every place their bodies were touching. Rick’s elbows squeezing his ribs. Their legs, tangled together. He wanted, he  _wanted_ –

But then Rick froze. Whole body going rigid. And not in the mindless, ecstatic convulsions that sometimes wracked him before he came. Something else, something more like fear.

“What’s wrong?” he said urgently, craning round to look at him.

Rick didn’t answer at first. His eyes were wide and shocked, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Too… too  _much_ ,” he rasped at last. “Like I can’t… breathe. Drowning. Burning up…” His hips juddered compulsively, and they both inhaled sharply. “Don’t know what’s happening to me…”

“We gotta stop,” Daryl said, alarmed by the look on his face. “Here, lemme get up--”

“It feels like  _so_   _much_.” Rick forced out the words like they were stuck in his throat. “Like I’m about to…”

Daryl struggled to his knees, disengaging them as gently as he could. Then he turned to face him. Rick was still hard, painfully so, judging by the swollen purple head of his cock. He looked a bit deranged, but that was an expression Daryl was well-acquainted with. “Maybe you was just about ta come,” he suggested, combing his fingers through Rick’s sweaty curls. “’S been a while, remember?”

“Felt like it was gonna fucking kill me,” Rick said, shaking his head and leaning into the touch. “So much…  _damn._ ” He grabbed hold of Daryl’s waist. “You do it.”

“Askin me ta fuck you?” he said, narrowing his eyes. His body was still thrumming with arousal, it happened like this sometimes, when he wanted Rick so badly he could damn well explode. But Rick’s brain was buzzing, he could hear it like he could hear most things in Rick’s head, and it sounded like a hive of angry bees. Love, desire, desperation, all rising to a screaming crescendo –. “Think we should stop,” he said tightly.

“I’m  _asking_ ,” Rick ground out, locking eyes with him. So blue. “You want me to fucking beg?”

“Naw,” he said, easing Rick down against the mattress. “Least not this time.”

He leaned back to gauge the impact of his words. Had to go about it careful, taking control; Rick was touchy these days. Playing straight had given him a bunch of cockeyed ideas about fucking, about who did what, and what went where. Daryl took a long time prepping him, eyes locked on his face while his fingers worked inside him. Rick licked his lips. Ghosting over his prostate, Daryl considered making him come like this. Seemed like a safer bet, considering—

“ _Please._ ”

Three fingers in, he raised an eyebrow. “You beggin?” He twisted his wrist brutally, and Rick’s eyes flashed.

“Don’t make me wait anymore.”

Naked  _want_ etched in every line of Rick’s face. Suddenly so powerful he could smell it. The air was thick with it.

“Daryl. Get inside me. Now.”

“Rick.” His lungs felt tight when he entered him. He understood, then, something of the emotion that had paralyzed Rick. More feeling than either of them could contain, it would rip them apart.  _Sonuvabitch._ He bit Rick’s collarbone and hooked an arm under his leg, urging him to wrap them around his waist.

He didn’t hold back. Biting, sucking, bruising Rick’s mouth with hard stinging kisses as he slammed into him with all his strength. Rick’s nails were drawing blood up and down his back; he growled in satisfaction, seizing Rick’s hands in his and pinning them above his head. He could sense it, Rick’s mind going blissfully blank as he surrendered to the feeling of it—

With his left hand still trapping Rick’s wrists against the headboard, he reached between them to take Rick in his right hand. Cupping his heavy balls, getting a firm grip on his cock. Stroking him fast and rough. Convinced that if he slackened, even for a moment, the exertion of their bodies wouldn’t be enough to drown the voices in Rick’s head. As long as he could keep Rick like this, bucking and grinding back against him, twitching cock dripping all over his fingers, yeah—

Trying not to dwell on how tightly Rick’s hot velvety depths were clutching him, or it’d be over too soon, his own long-suppressed need roaring back to life. Rick was doing it on purpose, intentionally clenching down on his cock; he could make out a spark of mischief in those blue eyes, twinkling through a haze of heat and arousal. His focus was slipping. It wasn’t just Rick’s exaltation he was feeling now, but his own, and they were the same. Blurring and bleeding together,  _darylrick_ and  _rickdaryl_ —

“Yer mine, right?” he demanded, rearing back and flinging sweaty hair out of his eyes. He dragged his sticky fingers through the hair on Rick’s chest, giving a sharp yank when Rick gasped out something unintelligible.

“ _Yes_ ,” Rick managed at last, blinking up at him, eyes suddenly clear as the day they’d met. “ _Yours_ , Daryl.” A beautiful calmness stealing over his features, lips parting as he raised his head for a kiss—

Rick came for what seemed like an eternity, hips rolling as wave after wave crested over him. Daryl fucked him through it. When Rick finally sighed and went limp, he let go, too. Burying his face in the other man’s shoulder and biting down as he came. Leaving his mark for nobody to see but them.

Awareness crept back slowly. Sweat, his hair plastered damp and stringy across his forehead. Cum, so much of it; Rick had erupted like a geyser between them. His back, tacky with blood where Rick had – …

He chuckled at the mess they’d made, but Rick hardly seemed to hear. Gone completely boneless in his arms, the other man was breathing deep and slow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Radiating such palpable relief that Daryl had to laugh, despite the familiar pang of loss as he pulled out. He flopped onto his back and tugged Rick over so he could enfold him in a crushing bear-hug. “Plumbin still works, then,” he said at last, loosening his arms to let Rick breathe. “Toldja.” He trailed his fingertips through the cum on Rick’s belly and brought them to his mouth.

“ _Peace_ ,” Rick said, watching him lick his fingers clean. “Fucking  _finally._ ” He rubbed his chin, where he was letting stubble grow out again, salt and pepper. “Feel lighter. I don’t know how you do it, taking everything off me like that. The weight of it all. Doesn’t it hurt  _you_?”

“Naw,” he said, letting his hand settle on Rick’s flank and beginning to trace patterns over the soft skin. “Hurts more when yer all bottled up. Grenade bout ta blow. Scares the shit outta me, ta be honest.” He sighed. “Do what ya gotta ta keep this place safe. Be whoever ya gotta be to them folks outside. But there aint no room for that hardboiled sonuvabitch ’tween you an’ me, ya hear?” He swallowed hard, but he hadn’t quite finished. “Love  _you,_ Rick. Gotta gimme somebody worth dyin for, remember?”

His gut twisted, and he pulled away abruptly. Grabbing his cigarettes from the bedside table, he padded across the room to the open window. He rested his elbows on the sill and lit up. The town was dark, the streets empty. A cool breeze made him shiver.

Rick’s arms came around him from behind. He exhaled a jet of smoke into the night.

“I love you,” Rick told him, grasping his jaw and turning his head. Kissing him firmly, like they were sealing a bargain. “ _Fuck_ , Daryl, I’m sorry—”

“Yeah, yeah.” He tossed his cigarette out the window and smothered the apology with a ferocious kiss of his own. “I know.”

~

Hope was scar tissue and sinew and the tiny mole above Daryl’s lip. The lines of his body as he stood at the window, silhouetted in moonlight.

_It was enough so much not enough_

Just a little peace, a cessation to the noise. Permission to lift his foot off the gas, and let the person he loved and trusted in equal measure drive awhile.

They went back to the bed, where the sheets already smelled like them.

_I wish we had more time_

He rested his head in the cradle of Daryl’s hipbones and slept.


End file.
